


Medicamen ad Amorem (Love Potion No.9)

by CocksAndClocks



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Class Differences, First Kiss, Fluff and Humor, Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, Love Potion/Spell, M/M, Magical Accidents, Mild Language, Mutual Pining, Suggestive Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:02:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21923341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CocksAndClocks/pseuds/CocksAndClocks
Summary: Ozpin Pine, distinguished wizard and headmaster of Beacon Academy, a prestigious school for aspiring young wizards and witches, finds himself out of his own magical league when the unthinkable happens - he falls in love. Navigating a sassy potion peddler, his own fears and morals, and more than a few magical mishaps, he finds that he may have to rely on the worst magic of all - his own courage to confess.Also known as: one idiot wizard uses a love potion and disasters occur in a very silly fic
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Ozpin
Comments: 16
Kudos: 57





	1. Ozpin

**Author's Note:**

> To my OzQrow Secret Santa, @Notweird-scribbles (Tumblr), with love from Oz. <3
> 
> Prompt: Love potion cologne
> 
> Author note: Despite the love potion, this fic mentions the possibility of non-con situations, but does not contain any.

The Waters of Oblivion stood at the corner of two very plain cobblestone roads, far from the bustling modern streets of Vale. The shop boasted little but plain walls and a plain door, and the streetlamp just outside the arsenic green glass window was out for the third time this month, as though the shop wished not to be illuminated. In fact, unless one absolutely wished to find themselves facing the neatly printed sign hanging crookedly on the doorknob (“the witch is in”), it was very nearly impossible to accidentally stumble across the shop at all. 

But the shop had a certain way of guiding those to it when they were in need, and Glynda Goodwitch, resident witch and potions master, had a certain way of pocketing a tidy profit as a consequence.

The shop within, far from plain, carried customers to the gleaming mahogany counter over plush violet and gold carpet, soft lavender lamps glowing in the corners of the ceiling, casting an ethereal veil of color over the concerned faces of those who sought magical solutions to commonplace problems.

And they were all commonplace – healing potions for the sick and elderly, energy potions for those who abused their local baristas, potions for small acts of vengeance (reoccurring hiccoughs and sneezing droughts were amongst her most popular). And the most commonplace potion of all, the one that brought desperate and ashamed people of all manner to her threshold –

The tiny copper bell tinkled a welcome as the door opened, Glynda raising her eyes from her invoices to where the sunlight spilled in, warm and orange from the setting sun. And yet the shadow that touched the purple carpet remained still, its master steeling themself against the heavy emotions that no doubt caused the shop to find them.

“I don’t bite,” Glynda sang to the door.

The man on the other side coughed, the bell jingling again as he entered, hands wrapped tightly around a black and silver cane.

“Unless that’s why you’ve come, that is,” Glynda said, offering her sweetest smile.

The man’s pale complexion bloomed pink and he coughed again, running a nervous hand through silver hair that looked as though he had been doing so all day. 

“No, I…” he began, his voice soft, the two syllables hinting at a polished accent. He finally crossed the shop, his body a mess of anxious ticks as he adjusted his tinted glasses, the emerald green tie that shimmered under the shop lamps. 

Glynda eyed the cut of his suit and the shine of his monkstrap dress shoes, dreamily imagining the metaphorical gold pouring out of his pockets.

“Take your time, sir,” she said, with another beaming smile. “May I offer you a cup of tea and my catalog?” she added, having neither.

“No, thank you,” the man said, in his polite, posh accent. “I don’t believe I’ll trouble you for long.”

Glynda merely held her smile. Her customers never stayed long.

“Why don’t you tell me why you’re here,” she purred. “I’m sure that whatever you seek, I have.”

“Ah,” he said, the syllable another nervous tick. “Well, I – I’m in need of something rather…”

Glynda’s eyebrows rose as she waited for him to continue.

The silver-haired man swallowed, glancing about at the magical knickknacks on her shelves. 

“I wondered if you might be able to produce…”

The last bit of his sentence escaped his lips as an embarrassed mumble, Glynda leaning over the counter to make it out.

“Sorry?” she asked, holding the sweetness in her voice.

“A – a love potion,” the man blurted, too loudly, raising a hand to his mouth, pinkly glancing about the shop as though to ensure they were alone.

Glynda, sliding back off the counter, heard the echoing ring of her cash register in her ears.

“Of _cooourse,”_ she sang, her smile entirely genuine now. “I have several varieties of love potions available.”

The silver-haired man looked relieved – whether because of the availability or her lack of questioning his motives, she couldn’t tell.

Then again, his response wasn’t terribly unusual for those poor souls who came in with the same request.

“My basic love potion requires your…beloved to consume it,” Glynda said, bending down to retrieve a very large and very heavy text from beneath the counter. The book hit the counter with a loud crack and the silver-haired man flinched; Glynda paid him almost no mind as she snapped open the spine and ruffled through the worn pages. 

“I recommend it in coffee – Turkish coffee, if possible, as it’s a rather…noticeable flavor.”

“Oh, I – I don’t know if he – they,” the man corrected quickly, turning a new shade of rose under the violet lamps, “drink coffee.”

“Hmmm, then perhaps something more subtle,” Glynda said, all saccharinity as she turned another page. “I must warn you, sir, that love potions are tricky things, and they carry something of a price tag as they become more…complicated.”

“That…won’t be a problem,” the man said, eyes darting down to the book. “What others do you offer?”

“Moving up from my basic package, I have another potion that would cause your beloved to become overwhelmed with lust for you, broken after a…physical union.”

“Oh, no, I – ” The man went scarlet now, unable to look her in the eyes. “No, I – I don’t think – ”

“Perhaps something that bestows a schoolboy crush? Your beloved would be overcome with giggles and a teenage infatuation – ”

“That’s not quite – ”

“Or a potion that causes your beloved to dwell on your every word – ”

“No, I don’t – ”

“Or – ”

“I just want _him!”_ the man exclaimed.

Glynda paused over her book, shooting him a look from over her glasses.

The silver-haired man sank quietly against the counter, his reddening face hidden beneath a hand.

“I beg your pardon?” Glynda asked sweetly.

“I only want him,” he repeated, his voice muffled by his palm. “I don’t want a slave, or to reclaim feelings from my youth, or to alter him. I just want…”

“Him,” Glynda finished. She shut the book abruptly, the man jumping at the crack against the counter. “I know what you need - _Medicamen ad Amorem.”_

The man looked up at her, his brows furrowed. “And…what will that do?”

“It is the purest form of love potion known to witch and wizard,” Glynda declared. “A potion meant to bring all your charms to the forefront, so that your beloved can see you for who you are, and learn to love you for it.”

The man blinked at her, the blush slowly fading. “Oh. That sounds…promising.”

“It never fails.”

“Never?”

“No customer who used this potion has ever lacked love.” Glynda leaned over the book. “Interested?”

“Yes,” the man said, eagerness bleeding through his composure. “If it’s not too much trouble to make.”

“It’s impossibly dreadful and complicated to make,” Glynda said, watching the man deflate a bit at this statement, “but you’re very fortunate. I just made a batch for another customer – and I have leftovers.”

“Enough for another order?”

“You won’t need much,” Glynda said. “It’s very potent. You need only apply a bit to your skin while around your beloved, and he will begin to see you in a new light. Lasts a few hours at a time.”

“To my skin?”

“Like a cologne,” Glynda said. “A…very expensive cologne.”

The man regarded her for a long moment. “I’ll take it.”

Glynda grinned. “Of course, sir. Will that be cash or credit?”

“Cash.”

It always was.

“Of course, sir. Let me get your receipt.”

An enthusiastic ring of the register, and Glynda slid the invoice before him, watching the widening of his eyes.

“Oh,” he said. “That – oh.”

“We offer discreet credit card receipts,” Glynda purred.

The man adjusted his glasses. “Yes, well…perhaps that would be best.” And yet he hesitated in pulling out his wallet, and again in handing over his credit card. When it reached halfway over the counter, Glynda pulled it from his hand, all smiles as he looked increasingly concerned.

She slid the card through and handed it back, unable to resist glancing at the name embossed in gold on the plastic.

_Well, well._

It wasn’t often a wizard came to see her.

She tore the receipt that printed and slid it before her customer, placing a violet quill beside it.

“Sign, please,” she said, retreating to the back for the potion in question.

The man signed the receipt and quickly pushed it back toward her, as though he had signed away something important rather than mere pride.

“Thank you, Professor,” she said, all smiles as she placed the receipt in the till.

From across the counter, Professor Ozpin Pine fidgeted with his cane, unable to meet her eyes.

“You said this would remain discreet,” he murmured.

“And so it shall. Your credit report will merely state that you purchased something from a magic shop. Hardly difficult to explain if necessary, as a wizard.”

Professor Pine gave a resigned sigh.

“See? Discreet.” She placed the potion on the counter, beaming. “Pleasure doing business, Professor.”

He stared, his expression aghast as he picked up the heart-shaped bottle, the bright pink color reflecting against the lavender lamps. He gave Glynda a long, incredulous look.

“So that you don’t confuse it with your other cologne,” she said.

“Of course,” he said, his voice all disbelief. “Thank you.”

“Remember,” Glynda said, as he turned to the door. “Just a few drops on your skin and no more!”

With another resigned sigh, the wizard pushed the front door open, disappearing into the orange sunlight.

_Two love potions in one day._

She very nearly felt sorry for them, the people who preferred magic over their own charms. After all, if an attractive, accomplished wizard – headmaster of a renowned magic academy – couldn’t find love without assistance, what hope did the rest of them have? She thought of the other man who commissioned her, the irregular bills and coins he dug from pockets and a frayed faux leather wallet, turning over what looked like his life savings, just for a chance to woo someone unobtainable – 

Yes, it was all terribly sad, Glynda thought vaguely, counting the till, but if she had days like this every day, she could retire to a beach house in less than a month.

⁂

Ozpin Pine walked back to his school in a sort of daze.

He had done it – he had swallowed his pride like a pill that stuck in the throat and settled heavily in his stomach, but it was done now, the tiny pink bottle nestled in his interior coat pocket. Now he merely needed to do it once more, just long enough to have the courage to put it on and hope against hope that the stuff worked.

Beacon Academy was all but empty when he arrived back, classes for the day dismissed and most teachers gone before evening descended. 

As perfect an opportunity as he would get.

_A few drops on my skin when no one else is about._

Simple.

Guaranteed.

Ethically – extremely questionable.

Ozpin paused in the empty halls and sighed, deflating against the wall. 

Could he really do this? A _love_ potion?

_When did my life become this?_

He pushed himself off the wall and headed to the faculty lounge. A cup of coffee and a few deep breaths, and then he could decide if he could go through with the thing.

The enchanted door to the faculty lounge, heavy wood and stained glass, unlocked before him and he entered, still sighing to himself, hoping against hope that there was still coffee in the pot this late after hours. The tiny bottle in his coat felt like a brick, impossibly heavy with all the complications it represented and could cause.

He couldn’t _really_ use it, could he?

Then again, he was happy enough to hand over a small fortune for it.

It would have been easier if he had, years ago, foreseen a crush-turned-infatuation and opted to study potions instead of more practical things like transfiguration and magical theory. It certainly would have been simpler than skulking into a strange alchemist shop because he didn’t have the spine to confess romantic feelings.

Becoming a wizard had been infinitely easier than falling in love.

The coffee pot bubbled happily at him despite the black cloud that hung over him, a small note taped to the machine.

_Thought you might need this._

It was merely signed _Bart,_ a gift from the potions professor whom Ozpin could not bring himself to see regarding the small problem consuming him from the pocket over his heart. The thought made him consider asking for a particularly lethal poison instead.

Ozpin poured himself a cup of coffee and leaned cane and hip against the counter, miserably counting the decisions in his life that had led him to this. He poured in too much sugar – a bad habit that reappeared in times of anxiety – and dropped the stir stick into the trash can, regarding the clean black bag within.

The janitor had already been through the room. Ozpin checked his watch; he would be close to cleaning the headmaster’s office, and Ozpin had every intention of being there when he did. 

Working as late as he did offered Ozpin an unexpected acquaintance with the janitor who nightly came into his office to empty the bins and wipe the windows; a lean, scruffy man who always apologized for interrupting the headmaster’s work. Polite greetings at first, _good evenings_ and _sorry to bother you, no not at alls,_ Ozpin trying to decide to ignore the man who pushed a mop around his desk. For several weeks this awkwardness ensued, until the janitor came in one evening and pulled Ozpin’s chair away from his desk, headmaster included, Ozpin giving him an incredulous look.

“At this rate, Oz, I’m never gonna get under your desk,” he said, by way of explanation. “So take a break.”

His name was Qrow Branwen, and there was a certain fearlessness about him.

After years of being headmaster, Ozpin grew accustomed to strangers deferring to his position, his reputation, the rumors of his magical talents. He was called _sir,_ he was called _professor;_ he was offered every courtesy that his illustrious accomplishments had granted him.

He was not accustomed to being manhandled and given an intimate nickname by a near-perfect stranger.

But Qrow didn’t remain a stranger for long; he couldn’t, after such an act. Nightly he came to Ozpin’s office (the enchanted door had decided, of its own account, to begin letting Qrow in without Ozpin’s implicit consent), and nightly Ozpin would pause in his work and sit cross-legged atop his own desk, sipping tea and chatting as Qrow mopped the floor around him.

A habit became tradition, and that tradition had to be upheld; Ozpin found himself rearranging meetings to be sure he was in his office every evening at six fifteen precisely, even when the day had worn on him.

Especially then.

Qrow’s company carried an almost healing power about it (Ozpin was almost certain it was not an _actual_ healing power), a man who treated Ozpin like anyone else, free of titles and the curriculum vitae that people saw when they looked at Ozpin. He regaled Ozpin with stories about his family – a brother-in-law and nieces – so fantastical that Ozpin could never truly be sure which were true, but always made the headmaster laugh until his sides hurt and he wiped tears from his eyes. Through those stories, Ozpin pieced together Qrow’s past as best he could, well-aware of the difficulties his family struggled through that Qrow never explicitly mentioned, a quietly brave optimism despite all things.

Those small half-hour windows became something precious, a time for breathing and remembering that life existed beyond the office where Ozpin spent so many hours of his day. He daily counted the time until Qrow dragged his trash can and mop bucket into the office, tidying up and mopping around the desk until he too had to sit atop it with the headmaster, the two sharing a rocks glass of whiskey while the polished floor slowly dried.

Ozpin couldn’t be exactly certain when he fell in love.

He knew when he realized it, at least – a common Thursday evening, Qrow struggling with the mop bucket’s level to release the mop from the press, until a great _crack_ echoed in the office and the bucket upturned over Qrow’s shoes, causing a great number of curses and an elaborate sort of dance to avoid the suds that already soaked into his pant cuffs. Ozpin had slipped from his desk to help but only managed to slip on the slick floor, his dress shoes hopelessly useless, colliding with Qrow in a flash of suds. For a moment they remained, limbs tangled and soap in Ozpin’s eyes, until as one they began to laugh, trembling with mirth in the puddle that seeped across the floor.

“Why didn’t you just – ” Qrow motioned with his hand as though waving a wand.

“Oh,” Ozpin said, having not thought of this at all, and Qrow began to laugh anew, clapping Ozpin on the shoulder, bubbles erupting from the contact.

“You’re somethin’ of an idiot,” Qrow said, catching his breath. “That’s why I like you, Oz.”

The statement, so casually given, made Ozpin pause, long enough to see the light catch on the bubbles in Qrow’s drooping hair, the soft lines that formed around his eyes, the ripple of his chest as he laughed.

An instant, and Ozpin knew.

In the faculty lounge, love potion burning in his pocket, he swallowed the rest of his coffee, grimacing at the sweetness, and reached for the pink bottle.

_Just a few drops._

This was the only way, after all. Qrow lived in a different world, working menial jobs to provide for talented nieces from humble beginnings. Qrow’s world was hard but warm, a far cry from the stuffy, refined office Ozpin knew better than his own home.

A man like that wouldn’t – couldn’t – fall for someone like Ozpin.

The thought almost broke his heart; without another, the bottle was open, the dropper in hand. The potion felt warm against his wrists, shimmering softly as he rubbed it in. For moment he stood, waiting for a reaction, but the faculty lounge remained quiet and empty. He gave his wrist a cautious sniff but smelled nothing.

_Maybe I’m not meant to?_

A rather anti-climatic potion, after all it had taken to obtain it.

Ozpin sighed, aware of the chances he had been duped but also knowing he would fully deserve it for attempting something so unethical, so flagrantly against basic human consent.

_Qrow is right – I am something of an idiot._

He replaced the bottle in his pocket and dragged his feet to the door, glancing at his watch again. Qrow would be in his office in ten minutes, and even without the potion’s effects, Ozpin had to be there. The faculty lounge door opened for him as he checked his email on his phone, attempting for at least a moment to distract himself from how incredibly foolish he had made himself out to be today – colliding, in an instant, with someone in the hall.

“Oh – OH! Professor Ozpin, I am so sorry. Dear, could you help him up?” 

Kali Belladonna stood over him, a hand extended.

“Mrs. Belladonna,” Ozpin said. “Thank you.”

He gave a start when her husband’s great hands closed around Ozpin’s arms, plucking him from the floor easily.

“Careful, dear, or you’ll break him,” Kali giggled.

“I’m a bit sturdier than that,” Ozpin said, who was certain he wasn’t, one of Ghira’s heavy hands lingering on Ozpin’s shoulder. “Are you two here to see me?”

“No,” Ghira said. “A parent-teacher conference with Professor Port.”

“Ah. Of course.”

Kali gave Ozpin a long look. “There is _something_ we’ve been meaning to speak with you about, Professor Ozpin. Regarding a personal matter.”

“Oh? I assure you that Blake is a model student.”

Ghira’s grip on Ozpin’s shoulder tightened, the man taking a deep breath as though preparing to say something important.

“Actually, the matter is of a different nature. More…untamed, rather.” Kali closed the distance between them, Ozpin backing him into Ghira once more, glancing up to see him staring intently down.

_Oh._

_Oh no._

_Oh no oh no –_

“I – I would be happy to schedule a private meeting,” he stammered, glancing about to find the surest escape from between husband and wife. “Perhaps later this week? If you call my office – ”

“It will take but one minute,” Kali purred, reaching for Ozpin’s arm. “I’d like to invite you over for a Consensus Ad –“

“Corpora.” Ghira finished bluntly in Ozpin’s ear.

Ozpin nearly jumped, whirling around to face him, Kali beaming now simply by looking at him.

_I’ve made an enormous mistake._

“I-Idem,” Professor Ozpin cleared his throat, again backing away, this time toward the safety of his office. “Consensus Ad Idem. All parent-teacher conferences must be administered here on the campus per our – ”

“Bodies, Professor Ozpin,” Ghira said, dropping all polite pleasantries.

“Yes, we’ve been considering adding another to our boudoir for some time and we think you are the perfect fit!” Kali took one of his hands and shook it to emphasize each word, Ozpin aghast at the touch, his face hot at the statement, so openly given.

“Ah! I – I must be going – meetings – ah – my apologies.”

And he ran.

Ozpin heard the Belladonnas call after him as he hurried down the corridors, uncertain of where he was going beyond _away from here._ He paused only once he had turned several corners, chest heaving as he realized that perhaps this potion had done something after all, and he was a damned idiot for disbelieving Glynda Goodwitch’s talents. 

“So then I said to him – I said, ‘Get your – ’ Hello?” 

Ozpin halted and stumbled at the sight of another person, steadying himself against the corridor wall, panting and wildly wondering how quickly he could turn back the way he came.

Professor Port double and triple checked his scroll’s connection as he locked his classroom, grumbling under his breath about the cell signal, eyes meeting Ozpin’s as he turned from his door.

“Ah, Headmaster! Good evening! Still here this late?”

“Y-yes,” Ozpin said, still tense. “But I was just going – ”

“Funny story I’ve got for you!” He paused just a few feet from Ozpin, the headmaster gripping the corner of the wall. “Wearing a new cologne?”

“Oh. Well – yes. Sort of. How did you…?” Ozpin took a step backward, fear rising up at the question.

“Hunter’s intuition!” Port tapped his nose, winking as he leaned in towards the headmaster. “You’ve gotta be careful with those pheromones, Professor, or you’ll have everyone jumpin’ on you like a trampoline – just like my twenty-fourth birthday party! We celebrated deep in the Savannah, surrounded by the most vicious predators known to mankind! Ho, ho, ho! But they were running for their lives after just a few minutes of watching our battles around the campfire. We had so many bodies and limbs we couldn’t tell which – ”

Ozpin continued to back up, almost jumping when his back struck the opposite wall. He couldn’t even offer Port a polite nod of his head, or an acknowledgment of the conversation, fighting the intense desire to run lest this moment turn into the horror of Port’s great mustache getting even an inch closer –

“…twisting, and turning, and thrusting – ”

The last word hit Ozpin and without thinking he ran, pushing himself from the wall, his dress shoes slipping briefly on the slick floor.

 _This was an enormous mistake,_ he thought for the hundredth time.

He didn’t want to know what thoughts were going through his victims’ minds, the awful, terrible thoughts twisted into being by the cursed potion on his wrists. He didn’t even want to subject Qrow to it anymore, feeling that this effect was beyond ethics, beyond reason. 

He wanted a shower, to scrub the stuff off before it caused any more problems.

_A shower._

He glanced at his watch, panting against the corridor that lead toward the athletic fields. 

_Six oh eight._

Surely practice would be over for all the sports teams, darkness already descending over the fields. Perhaps, then, the headmaster could sneak into the locker rooms and put a stop of all of this.

He cautiously wandered toward the field doors, pushing one open and scanning the dark, empty grounds. 

_Thank goodness._

He might miss Qrow coming by his office; despite his thinking ten minutes ago, Ozpin now regarded that as a blessing. Qrow might question Ozpin coming by, exhausted and with damp hair, but Ozpin would think of something to explain it. Anything was better than the truth.

Anything was better than another person being near enough to –

“OZPIN!”

The headmaster jumped, dropping his cane as the door swung back.

Hazel Rainart, the physical education professor.

_Dear lord, no._

Ozpin took off before he even saw him, scrambling to pick up the cane as he spirited full speed back to his office.

 _I’ll lock the doors,_ he told himself, his lungs burning at the amount of exercise forced onto him.

Never mind that the doors let Qrow in of their own accord. 

_I’ll lock the doors and close the air vents and wait this out._

If he reached his office before a colleague ate him alive. He turned the final corner and nearly tripped when his feet stopped, reacting too quickly to a figure standing just outside his door.

“Oh, Professor, you’re still here.”

Ozpin, chest still heaving, regarded Professor Peach’s smile with wide-eyed suspicion.

He had long known of Professor Peach’s innocent crush on him, but that, combined with the potion –

He inched toward his door as though she were a wild animal.

“I was just going to leave you a note about the new entrance policies,” she continued. “I had a few clarifications to make.”

“Ah,” Ozpin said, his door opening for him as he approached. “Yes, of course. Please just leave a message and I’ll get back to you. I have…a pressing appointment just now.”

“You always work too hard,” Professor Peach said, with anther smile. “That’s rather one of the things I love about you.”

Ozpin felt his blood run cold at the word, backing past the threshold. He offered a weak laugh. “That’s…very kind of you, but I really – ”

“You do know that, don’t you?” Peach’s voice changed, dropping into something almost desperate. “That I love you?”

“Oh no,” Ozpin said, backing into the office very quickly now.

“Ozpin, take me – ”

The enchanted door slammed shut and the voice died, leaving Ozpin in the middle of the office, clutching his cane with white knuckles, trembling with adrenaline.

Only after a few deep breaths could he slowly ease his fingers from his cane, his frantic heartbeat beginning to slow.

“Rough day?”

Ozpin jumped, feet leaving the floor, whirling around in horror.

Qrow Branwen laughed at the reaction (Ozpin, even terrified, loved the sound of it).

“You look like you’ve been running from a pack of wild wolves,” Qrow chuckled.

“Oh. Ah. Report cards,” Ozpin managed, breathless.

_Report cards. You’re a bloody idiot._

“Guess I’ll be chasing you down next when Yang gets hers,” Qrow teased.

Ozpin laughed, all nervousness at the thought of Qrow chasing him, catching him (Ozpin would, after all, be tempted in not escaping at all), pushing him against a wall, his face so close his breath was hot on Ozpin’s lips –

Ozpin cleared his throat too loudly, the daydream dispelling. 

“Yes, well – I’m sure you’ll have nothing to fear,” he said, turning the cane over and over in his hands. He could scarcely think, torn between wanting Qrow in the office and wanting Qrow literally anywhere else in the world until the poison on his skin wore off.

“Oh yeah? Confident you can outrun me, Headmaster?” Qrow said, his mop tracing the tiles that led to Ozpin’s desk.

Ozpin backed away, the desk at his back causing a new flood of panic. “Well, I – I’m sure that I – ” He glanced behind him, at the door that led back to Professor Peach, to the others enchanted by the potion.

How long did the witch say it lasted?

Ozpin was certain he couldn’t outrun everyone for several hours. But neither could he stay in here, alone, with Qrow.

_Could I?_

No, no, of course not.

He gripped the edge of his desk, prepared to jump over it.

Qrow, now close, searched the headmaster’s features, the janitor’s smirk dimming. He reached out to Ozpin, the back of his hand gently wiping the professor’s brow. “I’m not one of those parents, Oz. You don’t need to run from me.”

_He’s touching me._

Ozpin’s stomach twisted, butterflies exploding at the thought that, in this moment, Qrow might want him very much. He searched Qrow’s eyes desperately, glancing down to his lips, every part of him aching to just reach out a bit further, to let the potion run its course –

“I…might need to run from you,” Ozpin murmured. “But I assure you, it’s not what I want.”

“Then don’t. I won’t chase unless you want me to.”

There were volumes of want in that tone, so much that Ozpin suppressed a groan of frustration.

_Just kiss him._

No, he couldn’t do that – this wasn’t real affection; it was fabricated, temporary.

His muscles throbbed from tension, his heart pounding. Qrow’s hand drifted from Ozpin’s brow to his cheek, cupping his face as though to pull him closer. For a moment, Ozpin froze, his heart at war with his head, letting Qrow guide him to what he wanted so badly. He closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of him (some botanical, masculine cologne beneath the stringent sting of bleach and floor cleaner); his lips brushed Qrow’s and Ozpin let out a noise he barely recognized as human, the contact snapping frozen limbs.

He pushed Qrow away with both hands, watching the sheer surprise flash across his face.

“I – I’m sorry,” Ozpin said, his heart quietly breaking under the blood in his ears. “But I can’t. I can’t do this.”

He fled before Qrow had a chance to respond, the door releasing him from the confines of his office, and he ran, as fast as his legs could bear it, lungs burning, through dark corridors and empty halls, until he reached the silent locker rooms of the athletic department, throwing himself into the communal shower. The cold water soaked his clothes and he stood, shivering and scrubbing at his wrists, until his skin was angry and pink, and he was almost certain that Qrow would never look at him again in the way he had tonight.


	2. Qrow

Qrow swore under his breath when the bus jostled clumsily over a pothole, rubbing where his temple had struck the window. 

_Just my luck._

He sighed and leaned back against the hard seat, one hand absently checking his coat pocket for the small parcel inside. For a moment, he thought about what would have happened if the tiny pink bottle had broken, the liquid within soaking through his shirt, the scent drawing the attention of everyone else on the bus.

_Last thing I need is a bus full o’ people comin’ for my dick._

Not that the fucking potion had worked.

The bus hit another bump and Qrow winced at the force of it against his spine. 

Just another day in a life marked by minor misfortunes.

He sighed, stretching his back. Now, that wasn’t _entirely_ true – he had plenty of reasons to love his life, even if things weren’t always the easiest. Sure, his sister was a deadbeat, but he had a good family, adorable nieces, a brother-in-law who served the role of best friend and brother. And they weren’t _completely_ broke, even with Yang enrolled at Beacon and Ruby fast approaching it, which would cost a small fortune every year in tuition. 

The job at Beacon helped, even if Qrow spent every weeknight scrubbing floors and toilets, emptying trash while students eyed him like a servant, too poor for such a prestigious institution, too non-magical to belong amongst wizards.

The first may have been true, but the second – 

Wizards didn’t often come in the form of scruffy, approaching-middle-aged men pushing dirty mops around. And Qrow didn’t call himself one. Some things, like a man’s income or the supernatural powers he may possess, ought to be kept close to the chest. Wizards were cultured, educated men; Qrow preferred a more hands-on approach, finding that his magical abilities were best used covertly, and almost exclusively at the expense of snot-nosed brat wizard wannabe students with shit attitudes toward janitors. 

The first time was a genuine accident, really – not something you could blame a guy for. He had been cleaning the boys’ lavatory, minding his own damn business, when he felt a trickle of cold water down his neck. He had paused, glanced about, eyeing the sink faucet dripping some feet away.

An impossible source, if he didn’t work in a goddamn magic school.

He leaned toward it, squinting, when the faucet nailed him in the eye, and he recoiled, cursing, just as a chorus of laughter broke out from outside the door.

_You little shits._

He heard a sharp cry, followed by a confused babble of voices and the clatter of expensive boys’ shoes on the tile. He poked his head out cautiously, finding a river of water pooling at the door from the drinking fountain. A series of wet footprints hurried off around a corner.

_Karma,_ Qrow thought, half in wonder.

Although.

He eyed the water that seeped through the hall, sighing at the thought of mopping it again. At once, the water quivered, receding into itself, until he watched it – _felt it_ \- draw back into the fountain.

He stared for some time, and with a slow grin, realized that being the target of bratty students was at an end. 

He started using his powers for evil, which seemed the only real thing to do with his limited understanding of magic: tweaking faucets and fountains when kids muttered taunts about him under their breath; rugs flipping rude students off of rugs; making muddy footprints follow their own feet, until the students ran away in loud terror.

The last one had very nearly gotten him fired – at least, he was sure he would have gotten canned if his boss hadn’t been such a strange guy. He had, after watching students stomp mud over his clean floors (laughing when they saw Qrow’s unhappy expression), chased the kids off with their own prints, laughing when they began to panic and _crying_ when one boy screamed, a print catching up to him and landing on his ass with such strength that the boy fell. He scrambled up and sprinted away before the mud could do worse (not that Qrow knew how to do anything except move it). In the silence of the students’ escape, Qrow held onto the wall and his sides, wiping away tears and feeling very smart.

Until he turned and found the headmaster of Beacon Academy behind him.

“Oh, shit,” he whispered.

“That was quite a remarkable spell,” Professor Pine said, eyes roaming over the floors, now mud-free. “How did you manage that?”

Qrow swallowed with a dry mouth. “Uh. I, uh. Dunno, exactly. I just do it.”

Professor Pine leveled bright brown eyes at him, his expression thoughtful.

_Thoughtful is better than mad._

But might still be enough to fire him.

“Would you mind stopping by my office when you have a chance?” the headmaster asked. “I would be very curious to see how deep your talent is.”

“Talent?” Qrow asked, off-kilter from the remark. “You’re not…?”

“Not what?”

Qrow shifted on his feet. “Firin’ me?”

And to Qrow’s surprise, Professor Pine laughed. “For an innocent practical joke? And well-earned, if I might add. No, Mr. Branwen, I think I should commend you for it.”

Qrow’s lips twitched into a grin. “Yeah? Because I can do other things too.”

“I’m immensely interested to hear more, Mr. Branwen.”

“Qrow.”

Professor Pine smiled. “Qrow. Please, call me Ozpin.”

Qrow took the offered hand, chuckling. “Still kinda stuffy, isn’t it? How ‘bout Oz? Actually, I think I already called you that once…”

The headmaster looked surprised, and for a moment, Qrow worried he had offended him. Of course he would – Pine was a wizard everyone had heard of, headmaster and professor and professional magic-user. Probably wrote books and drove a car worth more than Qrow’s house.

But he smiled again, his fingers clasping Qrow’s more tightly. “I would like that,” he said.

Evenings at Beacon became more bearable – and eventually bearable became something to look forward to. Oz was a pretty okay guy for a scholar, offering Qrow a cup of tea when he came around to take out the trash and mop the floors, treating him like a person instead of the broke guy that cleaned toilets. And, to Oz’s credit, he also didn’t mind when Qrow voiced his very strong opinions on rich crap; Oz had laughed for a full minute when Qrow grimaced and told him that his fancy tea tasted like the potpourri in Tai’s bathroom. 

“Perhaps you would prefer one of my other fancy drinks,” Oz said lightly.

“No, no thanks,” Qrow said quickly, when Oz opened a desk drawer. “I’m good on your flower shit.”

“What a shame,” Ozpin said, blowing the dust from a dark bottle. “I thought you may appreciate an expensive whiskey. I received it as a gift from a grateful parent, but it’s really something that should be enjoyed with a friend.”

Qrow’s eyes drifted to the label of the bottle, doing some quick and rough math.

_It’d take me two weeks to afford that._

“But if it’s not to your taste,” Oz continued, lowering the bottle again.

“Hold up!” Qrow said, scrambling toward the desk. “You gotta lemme taste it first.”

Oz laughed, pulling a glass from his desk. “I only have one, I’m afraid. Do you mind?”

“Nah,” Qrow said, sitting on the edge of the headmaster’s desk. “Not when it’s a friend.”

Oz met his eyes, and Qrow was sure, in that moment, that he had said something profound. He couldn’t understand why someone like Ozpin Pine would lack friends – not with the school and the smarts and the money and the nerdy, tweed-clad good looks of an academic.

He didn’t know what to say to the quietly pleased look on Oz’s face, and so he sipped the whiskey, making a mock show of turning faint.

“Friends, hell,” he said. “If you’re _this_ nice to me, I might just fall in love.”

He took another sip, closing his eyes as he calculated the cost of each one, and completely missed the faint blush that crossed Ozpin’s cheeks.

It was pretty on par with Qrow’s luck that a stupid comment like that would be prophetic.

It came on gradually, inching further into his heart with each nightly visit. Ozpin was the kind of guy who had walls – natural for someone in the public eye, Qrow supposed. He built up the polite expressions, the kind words, the expensive suits and polished shoes, the real thing hidden underneath, shown only to Qrow, at night, when he sat cross-legged on top of his desk, shirtsleeves rolled up, the rocks glass filled and waiting for Qrow to join him on their private wooden island.

Sometimes Qrow would stay for hours after the job was done, talking to Oz about magic, about his family, about nothing important at all, making jokes and bad puns that reduced Oz’s polite façade, crumbling into shaking sides and breathless tears. Qrow learned quickly that Oz’s politeness was a form of distance – with students, with parents, with everyone Qrow saw him interact with. The kind words – well, that was real enough. Despite the distance, Oz spoke about his school, his students, with a warmth that radiated beyond him, enough even for Qrow to feel it through his dislike of the enrolled kids. And the suits – Oz was a little pretentious there, clearly concerned with appearances.

Not that he needed to be. Qrow liked him best when he was putting heavy creases in his pressed pants, arms bare up to his elbows, messy hair made worse by Oz’s shaking laughter, always falling into his eyes. In a show of tipsy confidence, Qrow once reached forward to brush it from Oz’s eyes, the headmaster’s laughter quieting at the touch. Oz’s face softened, lips parted, and Qrow was almost sure that he could have kissed Oz and he wouldn’t have minded.

He wasn’t sure why he didn’t. Oz’s walls were down around Qrow, but it didn’t change the fact that Oz was a famous wizard, and rich, and educated, and cultured, and belonged to a world that only allowed Qrow in long enough to clean the bathrooms. 

Qrow spent the next week flip-flopping on whether Oz returned his crush. Sure, yeah, he shared his expensive whiskey and laughed at his jokes. But Oz was kind enough to offer any visitor a drink. Then again, Oz was distant with others, from what Qrow had seen – stilted, polite conversations that felt so different from how he spoke to Qrow. 

But Oz had called Qrow a friend.

And Oz’s confidence – quiet, reserved, but strong in all matters important, enough to hold together a magical school, to deal with parents angry with their kids’ grades, to face the upper class without becoming as bitter and jaded as most of ‘em. 

That confidence faltered only at night, when Qrow let his flirting go a little further, when he placed a hand on Oz’s shoulder and the headmaster would give a nervous laugh, his pale face turning pink.

It wasn’t _impossible_ that Oz had a crush. But it was impossible to think it’d work out.

That was what finally brought Qrow to the shithole witch’s shop in the middle of the city, pouring his life saving’s on the counter for a Hail Mary play to win Ozpin over for good.

And, naturally, his life screwed him over with that too.

The potion hadn’t made Oz fall in love – the headmaster had fled the room the first chance he had, leaving Qrow dumbfounded in the middle of the office. He had waited for hours for Ozpin to come back, ignoring calls from Tai, asking when he’d be home. 

Oz hadn’t come back.

And so Qrow put the damned potion in his pocket the next day and hopped the first bus back to give the witch a real piece of his mind for crushing his hopes so fucking spectacularly.

⁂

“I want a refund,” the man demanded, each syllable laced with aggravation, as he pounded his fist into the witch’s counter, tiny pink bottle in palm.

Glynda Goodwitch raised languid eyes from her current invoices, meeting the red eyes beneath knit brows. The scruffy man withdrew his hand, leaving the heart-shaped bottle before her, stepping back and crossing his arms.

She squinted at him from above her glasses, memories returning of a mason jar of coins and crumbled bills pulled from worn pockets.

“Ah, Mr. Branwen,” she purred, undeterred by his glare. “Having a spot of trouble with your order?”

“Yeah, your shit didn’t work,” he growled, gritting his teeth.

“Impossible,” Glynda said, dropping the honeyed tone. “Medicamen ad Amorem is foolproof.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, putting down her invoices and picking up the potion bottle. “Unless,” she added, opening the bottle and sniffing at the sweet liquid within, “you’re more than a mere fool.”

The dark brows knit further together. “Just give me the refund.”

“Did you put it on within two hours of being in proximity to your beloved?”

Qrow gave an exasperated sigh. “Yeah.”

“And you were close enough to them that they should have been enchanted?”

_“Yeah,_ I told you – ”

“And they didn’t fall in love immediately?”

“Would I be here if he did?”

Glynda hummed, capping the potion again. “I suppose it’s possible that I brewed it incorrectly. After all, it is a delicate recipe.” She eyed the man once more. “You’re _sure_ he didn’t fall in love?”

“He fuckin’ ran away from me,” Qrow snapped.

Glynda sighed, the till ringing as she opened the cash drawer. “I can only offer my apologies,” she said, “and…a full refund.”

_So much for retiring to an island._

She counted out the cash under Qrow’s narrowed stare.

The bell over the door chimed, sunlight spilling over the carpet for a moment before a man’s shadow obscured it again. Glynda paused, cash half-counted, feeling her stomach sink at the sight of Ozpin Pine.

_Two refunds from this botched potion._

“I need to dispose of this,” Professor Pine announced, placing the pink bottle on the counter. “It’s…too effective.”

Glynda blinked at him.

_“Too_ effective?” she repeated.

“Yes,” the professor said, shuddering lightly. “In good conscience, I can’t use it. I want you to dispose of it.”

Glynda looked at the tiny bottle for a moment, eyes drifting back to Qrow Branwen.

“Is that so,” she said flatly.

Qrow, however, didn’t return her gaze; instead, he stared at Ozpin in something akin to disbelief. Ozpin glanced at him and then back to Glynda – followed immediately by a quiet gasp and start.

“Q-Qrow?” he said, gripping the counter as though he felt faint.

“Yours didn’t work right either, huh?” Qrow asked bitterly.

“Oh, I – ah.” The professor glanced at the matching pink bottle, blinking rapidly. “I – well, no, it worked. Too well. I just couldn’t…ah.” Hands twisted the shaft of his cane nervously. “I find it difficult to believe that you would need – well.” He fell silent, his cheeks very pink.

Glynda frowned, eyes darting from one man to the other.

“Excuse me,” she said.

Professor Pine looked relieved by the interruption.

“So your potion – ” she motioned at Qrow Branwen “ – didn’t work on your intended target. But _yours_ did.” She leveled her eyes at the professor. 

“Ah – yes. My…intended target, and…others,” Ozpin murmured, pink darkening to red, his eyes firmly on the floor.

“That’s impossible,” Glynda said, “because your potions came from the same batch.”

Qrow snorted impatiently. “I’m no wizard, but I know when I’m being conned. Just give me the refund so I can be done with your magic bullshit.”

“But it _did_ work,” Ozpin protested.

“Yeah, no, it really didn’t, Oz.”

“Don’t you remember?”

Qrow frowned. “Yeah. That’s why I’m here.”

Glynda’s eyes followed the argument, widening at the familiarity of the two.

_Oh, bless these idiots._

“Ohhhhhhhh,” she said, drawing out the sound until both looked at her again. “I see what happened.”

Qrow looked annoyed and impatient; Ozpin’s nervous ticks returned, fingers caressing his cane, eyes drifting to Qrow and quickly looking away.

“There is one way Medicamen ad Amorem won’t produce the magical effects as described,” Glynda said, “and that’s when the intended target already is already in love with the wearer. _Real_ love, mind you, not a simple crush.”

“Mine didn’t just not work, it fucking repelled him! He ran away!” Qrow motioned angrily at Ozpin, clearly beyond the limits of his limited patience.

Glynda suppressed a sigh.

“Well, I didn’t want – “ Ozpin broke off the sentence, eyes widening. A moment later, the blush returned in full force, spreading past his cheeks to the tips of his ears.

Glynda met his eyes and winked.

Ozpin choked, palming his mouth to cough.

“What?” Qrow said, catching the look.

“I’m afraid a refund is impossible,” Glynda said, scooping up the money on the counter, the till closing with a dissonant ring. “Store policy disallows them should the party of the second part already be in love with the party of the first part.”

“Hey!” Qrow almost reached for the money, glancing at where Ozpin was still trying to compose himself. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I think you’ll have to tell him, Professor,” Glynda said.

Ozpin shot her a horrified look. “Ah – well – ”

Qrow raised an expectant eyebrow at Ozpin and the headmaster faltered. 

“Well, I – I thought that I wasn’t the sort of person that you would – ah. Ethically speaking, this potion is too – too dangerous, and that as a wizard I shouldn’t – ”

“He’s something of an idiot, my dear,” Glynda said, studying Qrow’s baffled expression. “I think you need to be obvious.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Ozpin said, and in a show of exasperated boldness, seized Qrow’s collar and kissed him.

“Finally,” Glynda muttered.

Qrow seemed to short-circuit, eyes wide even as Ozpin’s had closed, the professor’s knuckles pale as he grasped at Qrow’s shirt. Qrow continued to stare, dumb, when Ozpin pulled away, watching his stunned expression.

“I’m sorry,” Ozpin stammered, when Qrow offered no response. “I thought – it made sense and I – I’m sorr – ”

Now it was Qrow’s turn to pounce; he seized Ozpin’s hips and kissed him back, the professor’s back bending with the force of it, Ozpin’s apologies swallowed whole.

“Oh, for the love of – ” Glynda rolled her eyes, scooping up the two potion bottles and placing them safely beneath the counter, away from Ozpin’s arms, flailing slightly before wrapping around Qrow’s shoulders, his feet shuffling backward as Qrow pushed bodily against him.

“Hey, hey!” Glynda yelled, when Ozpin’s back hit the wall with enough force to shake the lamp overhead. “You two love birds – out before you break something!”

Qrow pulled his mouth from Ozpin’s to shoot her a dirty look, but the professor, at least, had the decency to look embarrassed. 

“Ah, our apologies,” he murmured, pink and breathless. “We’ll go.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Qrow said, turning back toward Glynda. “Lemme get this right: we both bought the potion – for each other? And that’s why it didn’t work?”

“That’s right.”

“Then the potions _didn’t_ work and you owe us a refund – ”

“Qrow, let it go,” Ozpin said, pulling him by the arm to the door.

“Oz, that was like my life savings – ”

“I’ll give you a raise!”

“I’m not a prostitute, Oz.”

“Oh, for goodness – ”

The shop door closed with the ring of the overhead bell, the teasing cut short. 

Glynda shook her head, all fondness and softness. After all – she patted her still-full register – who didn’t love a happy ending?

The silhouettes of the two men paused just in front of her tinted window, not making it more than five steps out her door before melding once more into a single form.

She would never admit it, but In her experience, this was the best kind of magic – the kind that humans produced with each other.


End file.
